


Skin of the Dragon

by PhoenixPhoether



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-13 06:04:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1215391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixPhoether/pseuds/PhoenixPhoether
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Ginny's sudden death, Harry distracts himself in destructive ways. When it ends badly, Draco is there to peel back the layers and help him heal in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skin of the Dragon

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for mention of: character death (I am so sorry! I hate doing that); infidelity; gay-bashing (literal but not graphic).
> 
> The title is a reference to the quote at the beginning of the story.
> 
> I went with the word "apothecarian" to mean "one who works in an apothecary." "Apothecary" is actually the proper word, but as JKR uses that to mean the physical location, I'm distinguishing here. It's non-standard, but I researched it. I'm imagining it to be something like a Potions Master only with more of a bent towards healing. Also, I'm aware that most people learn you shouldn't sleep with a concussion. That's actually false (and rather ridiculous).
> 
> It actually is Pancake Day today, hence the reference at the end. :)
> 
> If you need some good music to go with it, try Smetana's "Die Moldau" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gTKsHwqaIr4

> "The very first tear he made was so deep that I thought it had gone right into my heart. And when he began pulling the skin off, it hurt worse than anything I've ever felt. The only thing that made me able to bear it was just the pleasure of feeling the stuff peel off." —Eustace Scrubb, _The Voyage of the Dawn Treader_ (C. S. Lewis, © 1952)

* * *

Harry Potter thought he was capable of facing death.

After all, he'd seen many of the people he loved die. Hell, he'd even died himself. That was why it was such a shock when he was utterly incapable of facing his wife's death.

It was sudden, an accident whilst covering pre-season training for an assignment in her work as a reporter for the _Prophet_. She had an in-air collision with a player who had lost control of his broomstick when dodging a bludger. The bludger had struck her in the side instead, breaking her ribs and causing her to roll into him just as he was trying to recover his balance. No-one had been able to rescue them as they tumbled out of the air, and both of them had died on impact. The Quidditch player had left behind his parents and a younger sister at Hogwarts. Ginny Weasley-Potter had left behind a husband and three small children.

It wasn't exactly the grief of loss that sent Harry into a tailspin. It was the guilt that he wasn't more devastated.

He'd loved her, of course. She'd been a good friend, a warm companion, and a wonderful mother. They'd been the Power Couple: the ones making headlines, the ones everyone admired, envied, and followed. At least, that's who they were in public. But he hadn't been in love with her since long before they said their vows in the presence of what seemed like the entire Wizarding world.

In private, he did his best. He covered his tracks, and she never knew. Which was why he felt relief at her passing—and shame for feeling relieved. Those were things that needed to be buried right along with his late wife.

After taking nearly a month away from work to care for his children and put her affairs in order, he decided that it wasn't helping anyone for him to sit around on his arse bored and moping. He desperately longed to return to work. Of course, that was financially unnecessary, but for the sake of everyone's sanity, it was the logical thing to do. That meant he needed to hire a carer for the children.

In a string of odd coincidences, he chanced to discover that Lavender Brown was seeking employment anywhere she could find it. It appeared that old prejudices hadn't entirely died out with Voldemort—anyone infected with lycanthropy or vampirism was still on the fringes of society. Harry couldn't have cared less. Lavender was competent, gentle, and warm, and the children adored her at once. They made very little of her marred face and hands. Glad for the company and for someone to run his household, Harry arranged for her to move in straightaway. He was more than happy to grant her three days away every month in addition to her regular time off.

The rumors began at once, naturally. The hero and the werewolf. His taste for all things 'unnatural' was reported in the _Daily Prophet_ on a regular basis after Lavender moved in, and they were rumoured to be insatiable. Harry quietly burned those editions before either Lavender or his children could get hold of them.

Harry wondered what the _Prophet_ would do if they had the real story.

The truth was, he did bury his guilt and grief in exactly the way the news suggested—just not with the specific person and not precisely by the implied mechanics. His preference for finding strange men—typically Muggles—to fuck him until he could barely remember his own name remained his carefully guarded secret.

That was, until the night more than a year later that he found his way to a favourite Muggle bar in a somewhat lesser-known London neighbourhood. The plan had been to have a one-off in the men's loo and return home to his children long before anyone would worry. He fully expected to be back by supper.

Before he could enter the pub, the first blow struck, along with a sneering voice saying, "Well, lookee what we have here." Physically, Harry didn't stand a chance against five large, angry Muggles. He could've taken them all on with a few well-aimed hexes, but he didn't dare use his wand in that part of town. It didn't matter that he'd have been justified; he didn't want to explain to a team of Obliviators why he was there in the first place. Instead, he took what they gave him until they left him unconscious and barely alive in the alleyway behind the pub.

Which was exactly where Draco Malfoy found him fifteen minutes later.

* * *

Draco heard a small cough and looked round to see Potter coming to. Swiftly, he moved to make sure Potter didn't move. He had several cracked ribs, a broken nose, and more bruises than could be numbered, and he needed to keep still.

Potter groaned and looked as though he were trying to sit up. Draco pressed a hand to his shoulder. "Don't move. You'll only make it worse," he said.

"What—" Potter cracked open his eyes. On seeing Draco, he gasped and struggled to get free. "Fuck you. Let me go. Why am I here?"

"Stop moving. Do you want to re-break all your bones? I'm not a healer, and I don't know how well I managed the spells."

Potter lay back, breathing hard. "I need to go," he said, but he didn't seem to be trying to get free anymore.

"You're not going anywhere. You have a concussion. As I said, I'm no healer."

"My children…I need to get home to them. They're going to wonder what happened…" He let his voice trail off, looking quickly away from Draco.

"My god, Potter. You left your children alone so you could get pissed in a Muggle bar?"

"Not really."

Draco's mouth dropped open. "You left your kids alone so you could have a fuck in a Muggle bar."

"This wasn't exactly in the plan. All I wanted was to unwind after work. I didn't intend—" He stopped and his face went red.

"You didn't intend to be beaten nearly to death outside a gay bar by a bunch of Muggle thugs who didn't happen to like that you're bent."

"How the hell would you know what kind of place that was? I didn't think you preferred to associate with anyone beneath you, including Muggles. And probably queers."

"I live nearby. I know exactly who frequents that particular establishment."

"Whatever, Malfoy. You don't know a goddamn thing about my life. No, I didn't leave my children alone. They're with their carer, who is probably frantic by now that I've not returned home. So can we dispense with the moralising so I can reassure her I'm not dead on the side of the street someplace?" He shifted and grunted painfully.

"No," Draco said sternly. "I already told you, you can't leave. Your injuries are too severe. Give me your Floo address, and I'll firecall your children's carer to tell her where you are."

Potter coughed again and winced. "Christ. You couldn't have done something to make it hurt less?"

Draco couldn't help rolling his eyes. "Let me say this one last time. _I am not a healer._ I'm an apothecarian. I did the best I could. Now that you're awake, I can give you several potions for it, but you couldn't exactly have swallowed them in your unconscious state. Now, are you going to give me the damn Floo address?"

"Fine. I live in Godric's Hollow." He gave Draco the specifics.

Draco tossed in the Floo powder and shouted the address. For a moment, he was surprised by the woman who responded to his call. He'd forgotten that the _Prophet_ had made numerous speculations about Potter's relationship with Lavender Brown. He almost snorted; if only they knew. Well, he wouldn't be the one to tell them.

She was surprised to see him. "Oh! You've never called for me at home before. Was there a problem with my order?"

"No, nothing like that. Listen, I've got Pott—Harry here at mine. He's had a bit of trouble at work, and there's been an accident. He didn't want you or the children to worry that he wasn't home yet. He'll need to stay here for a day or two until it's safe for him to move."

Lavender looked stricken. "Is he all right?"

"He'll be fine. Just some minor injuries. But he can't travel yet, as he's hit his head. Will the children be all right with you for the weekend?"

"Of course. He's had to work extra shifts before, so they won't be upset. I won't worry them by telling them he was hurt."

"Good. While I have you here, do you need anything from me?"

She shook her head. "No. I'm fine. I'll be in to see you in a couple of weeks, of course."

"Right. I'll see you then." He pulled his head out of the fireplace.

Once that was through, Draco returned to the couch where Potter was stretched out. "Your children are safe, and Miss Brown says they will be all right for the weekend."

Potter's eyes were wide.  "You lied for me."

Draco tried not to flinch.  "I know a bit about needing to keep things quiet.  Listen, I didn't want to upset Miss Brown by saying this, but I believe you should go to St. Mungo's."

That induced a wild panic on Potter's part, and he scrabbled at the blanket covering him. "No. No fucking way. I will risk Flooing home before I let you take me there. Shit. They'll find out—"

"Calm down, would you? Fine. I won't force you to go." He wondered what specifically Potter didn't want the healers to know. He assumed it had something to do with why he'd been at that particular bar.

Still shaking, Potter leaned back into the cushions. "Good." He closed his eyes. "Did you say that you could give me something for the pain?"

Draco sighed and stood up. He clearly wasn't going to get anywhere until he'd taken care of making Potter more comfortable. "I have a few vials, and I can brew more. I'll be back."

He slipped inside the room he kept expressly for his work and retrieved several different vials. After a moment's hesitation, he also took a jar off a lower shelf. He suspected it wouldn't go over any better than the suggestion of the hospital, but if all else failed, he could give it a try. He might threaten to take Potter to St. Mungo's if he didn't comply with treatment. Not particularly subtle, but then again, Potter had never been much on subtlety anyway.

Back in his living-room, Draco pulled over a small table and set the vials on it. He sat down next to Potter and carefully helped him to sit up just enough to keep from spilling any of the potions. He held out the first vial. Potter attempted to take it but dropped his arm with a grunt of pain.

"Damn it," he growled. "Can you just—"

"All right." Draco lifted the vial to his lips and tipped it slowly, letting Potter swallow the entire contents. "That should ease the pain. There are others, too, including a calming draught, an anti-inflammatory, something for the nausea, and dreamless sleep. I have enough for a couple of days, but you may need to take some with you when you leave."

"Which I will be doing tonight. As soon as this works, I'll be off your couch and on my own. I'll visit another apothecary in the morning."

Draco had to fight hard not to simply laugh at him. "I don't think so. I always knew you were stubborn, but this is bordering on ridiculous. I'm not going to bother telling you again. You'll see for yourself."

Potter only glared up at him. "Fuck off," he said.

"Happily." He stood up and strode out of the room, leaving Potter to his misery.

**oOo**

Less than an hour later, Draco could hear Potter yelling for him from the other room, lacing his pleas with a lot of creative swears. He sighed. How, exactly, had he ended up playing nurse-maid for the self-destructive Hero of the World? He set down the quill he'd been using and rose from his desk.

Potter was busy attempting—again—to get up. He'd managed to work himself more or less into a sitting position with one leg off the couch. He was huffing and wriggling to get better leverage; it wasn't working.

"Will you fucking help me up, Malfoy? I _really_ need to piss."

Without answering, Draco stepped around the table and gently moved Potter so he could get his arms around his waist. Bending his knees, he slowly returned to standing, taking Potter with him. Carefully, he turned so that he was supporting Potter with his right arm, side-by-side.

When they reached the toilet, Draco asked, "Do you need help?"

"I don't need you to hold my dick."

"Not what I meant, you arse. Could you relax for five seconds and just accept what I'm offering?" Draco wasn't naturally terribly nurturing anyway, but Potter was positively maddening.

He immediately regretted being snappish. Potter turned away and put a hand on the wall. His shoulders were shaking and his breath was ragged. Hesitantly, Draco reached out to touch his arm.

"I'm sorry. Look, I'll wait right here. Let me know if you need anything."

"It's fine. I just feel like shit, is all." He pushed off the wall and swayed a little.

Draco nodded, and Potter stepped inside, closing the door behind him. For a moment or two, it was quiet, and then Draco heard a crash followed by a groan. Hurriedly, he opened the door to find Potter sprawled on the floor. When he looked up at Draco, his face went white. Draco made to crouch on the floor next to him, but Potter pulled himself up to sitting and shrank back, frantically tugging his clothes into place whilst trying to get away.

"Shit. I'm sorry," he whispered. He buried his head in his hands and finally let out whatever he'd been holding back, sobbing.

Draco noticed that the floor, Potter's legs, his pants, and the hem of the dressing gown Draco had lent him were wet. He turned around to grab some towels then knelt on the floor to clean up. He chose to do it by hand; he was reluctant to point a wand anywhere near Potter in his current state.

"Are you all right?" he asked, keeping his voice as low and as gentle as he could.

Potter wiped his face, but he remained turned away from Draco. "I can't even have a proper pee. God. I'm so dizzy I can barely stand, I just pissed all over your floor, and you're cleaning it up for me. You're asking if I'm all right? No, Malfoy. I am _not_ fucking all right." He tried to move but gave up and leaned against the wall.

"I meant, are you injured?"

"Nothing that wasn't hurt already."

There didn't seem to be anything else to say at that point. When Draco finished wiping up, he said, "Do you want fresh clothes, or do you want me to spell you clean? It's your choice."

"Spell it. Just do it quickly." Potter shut his eyes as though not looking would be safer. Draco reasoned that for him, it probably would be.

He charmed Potter clean and dry, then helped him shift so he could get up from the floor. The minute Potter changed positions, he groaned.

"Fuck. I'm going to be sick."

Moving as fast as he dared, Draco got Potter to the toilet just in time for him to retch violently. When he was done, he sat back a little, panting.

"Fucking hell," Potter muttered. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right. I told you, you have a concussion. I hope you understand now why I can't just send you home. You can't Floo, Apparate, or fly in your condition."

"I get it. You win, Malfoy. I'll stay here."

Draco helped him out of the room and back to the couch. This time, Potter didn't protest at all.

"Do you think you can sleep a little?" Draco asked. He wasn't sure when he'd started to care whether Potter was comfortable or not.

"Maybe." Potter settled himself down, and Draco drew a blanket up over him.

"Good. You'll let me know if you need anything?" He stood up, but Potter grabbed his wrist.

"Stay," he begged.

"All right." Draco settled himself on the floor next to the couch.

Within a few minutes, Potter's breathing was deep and even. Draco tiptoed out of the room, using his wand to dim the lights.

**oOo**

In the morning, Draco entered the living-room to find Potter sitting up. He had taken all of the potions Draco had left for him, and he had clearly opened the jar, too. Draco wondered if he'd known what to do with it.

His face looked like hell. Both eyes were heavily bruised, and there was still a lot of swelling around his nose. His lower lip had a good-sized scab in the middle, and there were other smaller cuts in various places. Fortunately, Draco was handy with dittany and had been able to apply it soon enough to keep the worst of the scarring at bay, but he'd obviously missed a few spots the night before in his haste to heal the worst injuries. He was pleased, however, to see that he'd at least been able to keep Potter from having a crooked nose. That gave him hope that he'd been able to properly heal the broken ribs, too.

"All right?" he asked.

Potter nodded. "A bit better. Where's my wand? And my glasses? I can't see a damn thing."

Draco went to a book shelf and picked up Potter's wand and glasses. "Right here. I fixed your glasses. Fortunately, your wand was still intact."

"I had it in my sleeve. They didn't really touch my arms." Potter extended his hand, and Draco returned the items to him.

Potter immediately put on his glasses and gave a relieved sigh. He picked up the jar of ointment from the small table. "This stuff…I'm supposed to just put it on the bruises, yeah?"

"Yes." Draco paused. "Do you want help later? You have some you may not be able to reach, like on your back."

"Er…okay. Thanks," he added as though it were an afterthought.

"Good. If you're feeling well enough, you can have a shower later."

"Okay."

The conversation was rapidly approaching awkward. "Would you care for something to eat?"

"That would be nice, yeah."

Draco fixed both of them some breakfast and delivered it to Potter with flourish on a silver tray. Potter chuckled when he saw it, and it made Draco feel relieved to know that he'd been able to loosen some of the tension. Potter was no longer behaving like a caged animal, and he'd been almost friendly that morning. There might be hope after all. Something inside Draco thought that seeing him so thoroughly broken felt wrong, somehow.

Potter seemed to feel better still after breakfast, so Draco offered again for him to have a wash. Potter accepted, and Draco helped him to the bathroom. Inside, Potter stalled, simply standing there with his hand against the wall so he could remain upright.

"Er," he said.

"Eloquent as ever, I see. Is there something you need?"

"It's nothing. Never mind." Potter groped his way along the wall to steady himself until he reached the shower. He handed Draco his glasses and opened the shower door.

Draco set the glasses on the side of the sink. "Planning on wearing your clothes in? That's certainly one way to keep them clean."

"How is it that you so consistently make me want to hex the shit out of you?" Potter said, but there was no real heat behind the words.

Draco smirked. "It's a gift. Look, I know this is painfully awkward and strange, but I will help you if you need me to."

Potter looked as though he couldn't quite make up his mind. After a long pause, he said, "I think I need help."

"Just tell me what you need." Draco stepped closer.

Slowly, Potter peeled off the dressing gown and left it on the floor, but he kept his pants on. "Can you turn on the tap?"

Draco eased around Potter and fiddled with the tap until the water was coming out at what felt like a good temperature. "Will this do?"

Potter reached into the spray. "It's fine." He continued to stand there.

"Are you getting in?" Draco pretended not to notice that he still wasn't fully undressed.

"I—" A flush bloomed on Potter's cheeks. "I can't bend far enough to take these off." He tugged at his waistband. "But I'd prefer you didn't see me."

Draco bit back a rude comment about wondering how many other men Potter had let see him naked. Instead, he said, "You don't have anything I haven't seen before." He twitched an eyebrow.  "Do you?"

The tension left Draco's shoulders when Potter chuckled weakly.  He sighed. "Fine. Just do it, then."

Carefully, so as not to cause further pain or damage, Draco eased Potter's pants down until he could gingerly step out of them. He gripped Potter's arm loosely, urging him forwards into the shower. It was fortunate this wasn't the room with the bath so Potter didn't have to step up and over the edge; he probably couldn't have managed.

Once inside, Potter yanked on the door, effectively shutting Draco out. For the moment, he seemed all right. Draco leaned against the wall to wait.

After what seemed like an eternity, Potter finally said, "I'm finished."

Draco grabbed a towel from the shelf and pulled open the shower door, holding the towel so Potter could wrap in it immediately. "This is probably a good time to put the ointment on your bruises," he suggested. "You can lie down on the bed in the spare room."

When Potter nodded, Draco helped him out of the bathroom and into the small bedroom across the hallway. He settled Potter as comfortably as he could on the bed, leaving the towel covering him from his waist to his knees. As soon as Potter stretched out, Draco retrieved the ointment from the living-room and settled on the bed to begin applying it.

Potter's back was a constellation of bruises in various sizes, shapes, and severity. As Draco applied the ointment, Potter winced with every touch. After a few minutes, however, he began to relax. Draco kept his touch gentle but with enough pressure to rub the ointment in. He moved down Potter's back then out along his upper arms. Finally, he pushed the towel up so that only Potter's backside was covered. He massaged the ointment into his legs. Potter's breathing slowed, and after a time, Draco thought he might be asleep. He shifted on the bed, and Potter's eyes flew open.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. Do you want to turn over so I can put this on your chest?"

"N-no, thank you," Potter replied. His cheeks reddened again. "I can manage."

"All right. When you're through, let me know and I'll help you get dressed again. We should put this on at least another time or two today." He stood up and strode to the door, exiting and standing in the hallway.

Quite a long time later, Potter called for him, and Draco entered the room with Potter's pants and the dressing gown. The ointment seemed to have helped, because Potter was able to get dressed without assistance this time.

"Would you be more comfortable in here?" Draco asked. "I only had you on the couch because it was the closest place when I brought you here and I thought the position might be better for healing. But you can stay here if you like."

"Okay." Potter didn't seem to be in much of a talking mood, so Draco decided to step out and let him rest. Before he reached the door, he heard Potter say, "Wait."

He turned around. "What is it?"

"Just…I don't know. Stay for a bit?"

"I'll come back. I want to firecall Miss Brown to check on your family."

When Potter nodded, Draco stepped out. He quickly checked in with Lavender and reassured her Potter was making progress on his recovery. She confirmed that the children were all fine and there was nothing to worry about at her end. He told her he would firecall again to let her know when Potter would be able to return home. When he was through, he returned to the spare room.

Potter's eyes were closed, and Draco almost backed out again to let him rest. The sound of the door must have alerted him, however, and he opened his eyes. He didn't appear to have been sleeping after all.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better," Potter replied. "That stuff really helps."

"I suppose we can try it on your face, too. You look awful."

"Good idea."

Draco sat down on the bed next to Potter. "It'll be hard for you to do until you can stand at the mirror and see where to apply it. I'll put it on you." He opened the jar.

Potter closed his eyes again, and Draco dipped his fingers into the jar. Gently, he applied the ointment around Potter's bruised eyes and along his nose. While he worked, he said, "Tell me about them."

"Who?" Potter mumbled.

"Your children. Tell me about them."

"Oh. Erm, Jamie—sorry, _James_ —he hates when I use that nickname, thinks he's too old—just turned ten. Albus is eight, almost nine, and Lily's six." He chuckled. "The boys don't get on very well. James likes to play pranks—he's got too much of his uncles in him. But Al's so serious, he just gets upset." Potter sighed, and there was something behind it that Draco couldn't identify. "He didn't take his mum's death well."

"I suppose most children don't," Draco commented. Without thinking, he said, "Albus is the same age as my son."

Potter twitched a little, clearly surprised. "You have a son?"

"Yes." Draco pursed his lips. He hadn't meant to say anything. "He lives with his mother."

"I see. Divorced, then?"

"Yes," Draco said again. He didn't want to elaborate.

"What happened?"

"Why are you so interested in my private life all of a sudden?"

"I dunno. I thought we were just talking. You don't have to tell me."

Draco finished applying the ointment and set it back on the bedside table, stalling. He'd been perfectly comfortable leaving the past where it belonged. "It's fine, Potter. If you must know, I cheated on her."

"Oh, god. I'm—actually, I honestly have no clue how to respond to that. Sorry."

Draco almost laughed. "I suppose there's no good reply. I mean, it was my own fault, really. We had…an agreement. I broke it."

"An agreement? Well, no shit. Most marriages are like that, you know. Fucking other people is generally off-limits." He looked away, and Draco wondered what was behind his sudden pained expression.

"Not that kind of agreement," Draco replied. "The kind where I was allowed to have what she couldn't give me. Only I went too far."

"You've lost me."

Draco frowned at Potter. "Allow me to explain it better. Astoria married me knowing I prefer men. But the union was beneficial for us both, and she never cared that I occasionally needed a different kind of sex. Our agreement was that it never be anyone she knew, and it never go beyond casual. But she caught me with her sister's husband, and that was it. We were done."

"You fucked your wife's brother-in-law? That's low, even for you."

"And you apparently never had any kind of arrangement at all with your wife. Tell me, Potter, how often were you taking it in the arse while she was still alive?"

Potter's mouth dropped open, and he lay there staring up at Draco for several tense moments. His expression darkened and he said, "You bastard. Get out."

Draco stood up. "I told you what happened with Astoria. A little honesty wouldn't do you any harm, Potter. I don't know how you ended up outside that bar, but I do know that it's not the sort of place one just casually hears about. You've already seen how some of the locals deal with things they don't like. Next time, you may not have me to pick your broken body off the pavement." He stalked out of the bedroom and slammed the door, not caring much if it triggered a headache for Potter.

**oOo**

Several hours later, Draco was tidying up in the kitchen when he heard the door to the spare room open. He looked up to see Potter emerging, walking stiffly but remaining upright. He paused to put a hand on the wall briefly then resumed his trek. When he reached the kitchen, his eyes met Draco's.

"I need my glasses. Where did you leave them?"

"They're still in the bathroom. I'll get them." Draco dried his hands on a towel and stepped out of the kitchen. He slipped past Potter into the bathroom, where he retrieved the glasses. He handed them to Potter.

"Thanks." Potter seemed to deliberate for a moment before he said, "I'm sorry about earlier. I was being an arse." He twitched his shoulder a little. "Old habits die hard."

"Indeed." Draco decided to change the subject before they could argue again. "You seem to be feeling better."

"Quite a bit, actually. What's in that ointment?"

"It's a combination of different herbs, all with varying magical healing properties." He smiled faintly. "I created it myself."

"Good stuff, that. How often can I put it on?"

"Maybe three or four hours. We could reapply it now, if you like."

"All right."

They retreated to the bedroom, and Potter made to lie down on the bed. Draco stopped him. "If you take off your clothes before you lie down, it will be easier."

Potter nodded and slid the dressing gown from his shoulders. He handed it to Draco, who hung it on one of the bed posts. Potter lay down on the bed on his stomach. Draco sat next to him, angled so he could reach. He dipped his hand into the ointment and began rubbing it in.

"About earlier," Potter said. "It's just that you caught me by surprise."

"Hm."

Potter sighed. "You were right, of course." When Draco made no comment, he continued. "It wasn't often. At least, not while she was still alive. I just…I like being fucked." He buried his face in the pillow for a moment then went on, "But it's more than that. I wasn't in love with her." He swallowed audibly. "I'm gay."

"I more or less worked that out already," Draco said dryly.

Potter huffed. "Whatever. While we were married, I rarely did anything about it, at least with other people. I kept it to, erm, magazines and wanking, mostly. As far as I know, she never had any idea. I was going to tell her, actually, and ask her for a divorce. But then she died."

"And you had your freedom."

"Yeah." There was a long pause, and Potter sniffled a little. "More than that. I was glad I'd never had to tell her the truth." He looked over his shoulder at Draco. "I do this because I'm never going to be allowed to have anything else."

"Why not?" Draco finished applying the ointment and sat back.

"Because I'm the fucking Boy Who Lived to Marry His Childhood Sweetheart."

"You're overestimating either your importance or how much of a shit people will actually give. I can't decide which." Draco stood up to give Potter space. "Do you want to take care of the rest, or should I do it?"

"Just do my face, and I'll put it on my chest." He frowned. "I don't care what the rest of the world says or what they print in the fucking papers. It's her family that worries me if they find out."

Draco leaned over and took off Potter's glasses. "I know exactly what you mean." It was, after all, the reason he hardly saw his own son. Astoria had threatened to make everyone in both their families aware unless she had sole custody of Scorpius. He was lucky he was allowed to see him at all.

Without another word, he began to spread the ointment onto Potter's nose.

**oOo**

It didn't seem strange to take tea in Potter's room. What did surprise him was that it turned out to be rather enjoyable; Potter was decent company when he wasn't in so much pain. When they were through, Draco gave Potter another round of potions and offered to help him again with the ointment. This time, Potter didn't hesitate before taking off the robe. Draco began with his face then asked him to turn over.

They didn't talk much this time. Potter seemed tired, and Draco thought it might be best to let him sleep. Gently, he rubbed the ointment in, taking care to reach everywhere. When he began applying it to Potter's legs, Potter inhaled sharply.

Draco stopped immediately. "Did I hurt you?"

"Just—just a little."

Startled, Draco worked harder to keep his touch light. He'd thought the bruises would be less painful by that point. When he was through, he handed Potter the jar. "I'll be out in the other room if you need me. Try and get some rest before supper, and perhaps you'll be up to joining me at the table. That'll be a good test of how well you're doing."

Potter nodded but made no move to turn over. Shrugging, Draco exited the room. He left the door slightly ajar so he could hear from his brewing room if Potter called for him. He planned to make sure Potter had a good stock of whatever he needed to take home to continue his recuperation.

By the time Draco finished, he realised it was quite late. Hastily he moved to prepare something for them to eat. When it was ready, he went to wake Potter.

He pushed the bedroom door open slightly further, intending to call in softly. Instead, he almost gasped at the sight that met his eyes. Potter lay stretched out on the bed, his dressing gown hanging open. He had his eyes closed and one hand inside his pants. There was no mistaking what he was doing. Under ordinary circumstances, it wouldn't have bothered Draco in the slightest. After all, wanking was a perfectly natural thing to do. But these were not ordinary circumstances, and he found himself unreasonably embarrassed. He felt his cheeks heat up.

He backed away, but before he could turn around and retreat to the kitchen to wait, Potter slid his pants down, exposing his fully erect penis. Draco's lips parted, and he couldn't have looked away if he tried. He stood rooted to the spot, watching while Potter pleasured himself. He felt his own cock hardening, and his embarrassment deepened.

At last he'd had enough. This was a private moment, and he was intruding. He tore himself away and returned to the kitchen, willing his body to settle down. Vaguely, he wondered how long he ought to give Potter before going back in. He decided instead to cast a warming charm on the food and simply wait for Potter to emerge.

**oOo**

Throughout dinner, Draco had trouble looking Potter in the eye. Potter didn't appear to notice, and in the interest of keeping things pleasant between them, Draco shook of his discomfort and chose to enjoy the rest of their evening. He also decided not to examine the fact that he was having a rather nice time with Potter. It turned out that fifteen years had matured both of them after all.

Before bed, Draco applied the ointment one last time. The combination of that and the potions had done their job, and he was certain Potter would be able to return home in the morning. The thought was oddly disappointing. Draco reminded himself it was just that he'd liked having company after living alone so long. It had nothing whatsoever to do with Potter.

He reached out to touch Potter's back, and the image of Potter masturbating sprang to mind unbidden. He almost withdrew his hand, but he didn't want to let on that he was uncomfortable. As he ran his hands along Potter's skin, he couldn't help wondering what it would be like to do that in a different context. He closed his eyes and strained to block out the intrusive thoughts before he reacted to them.

Beneath his fingers, he could feel Potter trembling a little. He knew it couldn't be from pain; the bruises had nearly disappeared. He paused, and the pieces fell into place. The thought that Potter was turned on by this was more than a little arousing.

He leaned in and whispered, "Do you want me to do the ones on your chest?"

Potter's breath hitched. "N-no," he said, and it sounded like he was gritting his teeth.

Draco kept his voice low. "Are you certain? I don't mind."

There was a long pause, but eventually, Potter said, "All right."

"Turn over, then."

Potter rolled onto his back, and though he flushed, he didn't make any effort to hide the effect Draco's gentle touch had on him. Draco smiled a little. "Just relax," he said.

He dipped his fingers into the ointment and slowly, tenderly, he began to rub it into Potter's skin. He took his time. Not all of the places he touched were strictly necessary, but he couldn't help it. He was fascinated by the scars all over Potter's chest. They gave his skin an interesting texture, and running his hands over it caused gooseflesh to break out along Draco's arms.

Potter's lips were parted slightly, and his breath was shallow and uneven. Draco leaned in so that their faces were centimetres from each other. When he closed the gap, Potter made no move to stop him. He let his lips brush against Potter's then pulled away just a little.

"Is this all right?"

"God, yes," Potter breathed.

With that confirmation, Draco didn't hesitate. He captured Potter's lips and kissed him deeply. He shifted slightly so that he wouldn't crush Potter and cause him injury or pain. He knew what they were doing couldn't go any further, but he didn't care. For the moment, the sensual kiss was enough.

They continued to map each other's mouths until Potter began to squirm a little. He grabbed Draco's hand and attempted to slide it between them, but Draco resisted. Reluctantly, he pulled away.

"We can't," he whispered. "You're still healing."

Potter nodded, and his disappointment was evident. "Yeah." He sighed.

Draco decided to take a chance. "You're welcome to wank again, if you like. I doubt that would cause any harm."

Rather than being embarrassed that Draco had seen, Potter almost seemed pleased. "I may." He smirked, and it made Draco's stomach twirl pleasantly.

It suddenly struck Draco that he'd been meant to watch earlier; he chided himself for not staying longer. So as not to hurt Potter's feelings, he chose not to let on that he'd missed the end. "That was hot as hell, you know." Draco leaned in closer. "I'll be doing the same thing later." He chuckled when Potter inhaled sharply.

"We could do it together," Potter suggested.

Draco shook his head. "You and I both know we want more than that. Could you hold back? Because I don't think I could."

"I—no. You're right." He sighed again.

Draco pressed a light kiss to Potter's lips. "Goodnight…Harry," he said.

"Good night, Draco."

* * *

In the morning, Draco handed Harry his clothes, clean, mended, and neatly folded. Harry's injuries were nearly healed, and he would be able to go home. The thought caused a mixture of relief and sadness. Draco had provided excellent care, and Harry reluctantly admitted to himself that he would miss him.

Draco offered to take him, and Harry accepted gratefully. He thought he might be able to manage on his own, but he didn't want to risk splinching himself if he was still too weak. He might have Flooed, but this was one way to stall the inevitable parting, so he didn't suggest it. Just after ten, Draco Apparated him safely to Godric's Hollow.

"Do you want to come in?" Harry asked. He wasn't sure whether to hope the answer was yes or no.

"I can't. I need to get home to finish some work I didn't do yesterday."

"All right."

They stood there for a moment. After a time, Draco said, "I'll see you around, then."

"Right. See you."

Draco Apparated away, and Harry stood outside for a minute or two before entering the house. He was immediately surrounded by his children, all wanting to hug him at once. Lavender stood to the side, smiling.

"Good to have you home, Harry," she said. "I was going to give the children something to eat. Care to join us?"

"Actually, I have something I need to do. I know I've only just come home, but I need to catch up on something. Will you be all right if I leave for about an hour?"

Lavender raised her eyebrows. "Something about whatever caused your accident at work?" she said.

"In a manner of speaking. It won't take long."

"That won't be a problem." She herded the children into the kitchen.

Harry retreated to his room and took the Floo powder off the shelf. Bracing himself, he tossed in a handful and called out Ron and Hermione's address. When Hermione knelt beside the fireplace, he said, "Can I come through? There's something I need to talk to you and Ron about."

**oOo**

Two weeks later, there was a knock on Harry's door. He opened it to see Draco holding a plain brown paper bag in his hand. He was accompanied by a skinny blond boy. When Harry saw them, he grinned.

"Good to see you again," he said. He looked at the boy, who tucked himself partially behind Draco and peered up at Harry. "There's no doubt this is your son—he looks just like you. What did you say his name is?"

"This is Scorpius. It's my weekend with him, so he came with me. Er…I brought something for Lavender." Draco held up the bag.

Harry's face fell a little. "Oh. She's not here. She's taking a few days off." He frowned. "Wait…you know her?"

Draco nodded. "I'm her apothecarian. I've been brewing her wolfsbane potion for several years now. I brought her something new I created that she can use after the full moon."

"As I said, she's not here. But I can leave that for her, if you like." Trying not to let his disappointment show, Harry extended his hand, and Draco gave him the bag. "Are there any instructions?"

"No, it's all in there." Draco took a deep breath. "Actually, I didn't really come round to see Lavender." Harry didn't miss the way Draco's eyes traveled up and down his body.

A slow smile spread across his face. "Would you care to come in? I'm sure the children would like to meet a new friend."

Draco returned the smile. "Yes. I would like that very much."

He stepped inside, and Harry called for his children. They made introductions all around, and, as predicted, the children were thrilled with their new companion. Scorpius hung back for a few minutes, but James, Albus, and Lily were all warm and friendly towards him. It wasn't long before they drew him out.

The adults sat at Harry's kitchen table drinking tea while the children ran through the house making as much noise as possible. Al and Scorpius were quite taken with each other, and Al seemed particularly glad to have an ally in defence against his siblings. Lily was very nearly as bad as James when it came to pranks—perhaps worse, because she was the more subtle of the pair of them as well as being the only girl. The sounds of their laughter and pounding feet on the stairs were comforting and pleasant background music.

Harry set his cup down and looked intently at Draco. "You were right, you know," he said quietly. "About people not giving a shit."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"

"I told my friends and Ginny's family. Turns out she knew a lot more about me than she let on." He sighed. "Also, she was having an affair with that Quidditch player—the one who died."

Draco snorted. "I have no comment."

"That's comment enough." Harry laughed softly. "Turns out my skills as an Auror only extend far enough to catch Dark wizards, not to detect that my wife was as unhappy as I was. Anyway, it's all out in the open now."

"I can say the same," Draco said. He swallowed. "I told Astoria that I can't be arsed about whether she tells my parents anything and that I have as much right to see our son as she does. I demanded that I have him half the time. I won't be punished forever for my past mistakes."

"Good for you." Harry grinned. "So, does this mean—"

"It means whatever we want it to mean." Draco held Harry's gaze.

Glancing about and seeing that the children weren't in earshot, Harry said in a low voice, "Then stay tonight. I doubt Al would mind sharing his room."

"All right." Draco reached out his hand to Harry, and they let the brush of their fingers hold a promise.

**oOo**

When the children were at last in bed and Harry had gone into Al's room for the third time to tell them to be quiet or he would put a silencing charm on them, he and Draco retired to the living-room. They settled in with a bottle of a very nice wine Lavender had given him as a gift at Christmas.

"I have to admit, your children are nothing like what I imagined," Draco remarked.

"Oh?" Harry wasn't sure how to take that.

"Mm. I thought they might be…well, full of themselves, actually. They're rather more humble than that."

"We wouldn't have allowed them to believe themselves better than everyone else." Harry smiled. "They all got on very well today."

"That surprised me as well. Scorpius can be a bit timid."

"He's a very nice, polite little boy."

Draco chuckled. "Yes, he's not much like I was at that age. Just don't let him hear you call him 'little'. He hates it."

"I won't." Harry grinned. "Al's the same way. Anyway, I'm glad you brought him round today." He swallowed. "And I'm glad you're here, too."

"About that," Draco began.

Harry's heart sped up. "Yes?"

Draco set his wine glass on the low table in front of him. "I need to know that I'm not like one of your Muggle men."

"I don't quite know what you mean."

"When I was married, I didn't mind keeping things casual. But I'm not looking to become another notch in your bedpost, someone you can say you fucked once simply because you could. I want it to mean more than that." He looked down at his hands.

Harry leaned towards him. "Look at me." When Draco looked up, Harry held his gaze. "It does mean more. _You_ mean more. I'm free, Draco, and we can define this however we like. I don't want this to be just tonight either." He set his own glass down on the table and slid closer, waiting for a sign that he should continue.

Draco nodded, and Harry closed the distance between them, kissing him softly. He retreated far enough to ask, "Is this what you want?"

"Yes," Draco breathed, and he returned his mouth to Harry's.

They explored each other for some time, neither feeling the need to hurry. A slow, burning heat began to build between them, and Harry didn't resist when Draco slid his warm hands up underneath his shirt. Instead, he pulled it off and let it drop to the floor. Draco ran a finger down Harry's chest, examining him.

"You've healed nicely."

Harry smiled. "I was in good hands." He stretched a little and stood up, grabbing his shirt from the floor. "Come on. Let's take this upstairs." He held out his hand, and Draco accepted it.

Once they were inside the bedroom, Harry locked the door and cast a charm so they wouldn't be heard and interrupted. He shoved Draco against the wall, kissing him aggressively and running his hands down his body. Draco groaned, and it sent shivers along Harry's spine. They kissed and groped and rocked against each other until they were both gasping.

Draco pushed a little until he could walk Harry backwards to the bed. Harry felt his knees hit the mattress and allowed himself to fall backwards, pulling Draco on top of him where they continued to press themselves together as their arousal grew. Frantically, they tugged at their clothing, tangling themselves in what seemed like an endless mass of trousers and belts and pants. Eventually, they were free of the confining garments, panting and rutting against each other enthusiastically.

Before they were too far gone to stop, Harry pushed a little on Draco's chest, causing him to stop and shift so he was next to Harry. Rolling to the side, Harry reached into his night-stand and withdrew the lube and a condom. He passed both to Draco, then lay on his stomach.

"God. I want you so much," he groaned. "Please."

Draco didn't require further invitation. He began to eagerly work Harry open until he was begging Draco to stop and fuck him already. Draco manoeuvered himself behind Harry, who drew up one knee to provide better access. Draco's low, drawn-out moan as he entered sent a jolt of pleasure through Harry's entire body.

The slow pace Draco set wasn't anywhere near enough to be satisfying. Harry pushed his hips forwards, seeking friction against the bed. "Fuck. Harder," he ground out.

Apparently happy to oblige, Draco increased his movements until they were both grunting with every thrust. He slid his hand down and around to stroke Harry's cock. Harry gripped the pillow, feeling the pressure building. He knew he was close. He gasped when he felt Draco still for a moment, letting out a strangled cry as he came. Desperately, Harry sought his own release, grinding against Draco's hand until he, too, let go, shouting in ecstasy and coming hard onto the sheets in long ropes.

They remained joined together for a few moments, shaking and with their breathing ragged from exertion. When they had calmed down, Draco carefully extracted himself so they could clean themselves and the bedclothes. At last they lay next to each other, and a heavy, sleepy feeling crept over Harry. He turned onto his side and curled against Draco, who responded by wrapping his arms around Harry.

It was new, being able to remain in someone's arms afterwards, and Harry never wanted it to end. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to slide towards sleep, almost missing the brush of Draco's lips against his forehead.

**oOo**

Early the next morning, there was a soft knock on the door. "Dad?"

Harry groaned. "Fuck," he muttered.

Sleepily, Draco turned over. "Hm?"

"It's the kids."

"Shit."

Hastily, they threw on their clothes. Harry crossed to the door, and Draco sat on the edge of the bed, clearly trying not to look guilty. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw him hiding a smirk when he pulled open the door and all four children tumbled inside.

Lily's hazel eyes were full of innocent wonder when she looked at Draco. "How come you're in Daddy's room? Did you have a sleepover too?" she asked.

Harry struggled not to laugh. "Sort of, yes," he told her.

"Wow," Al said. "I didn't know grown-ups still did that." He looked confused. "But Dad only has one bed. Where did Scorpius' dad sleep?"

James rolled his eyes. "I'll explain it to you later."

"You'll do no such thing," Harry told him sternly. "Now, what did you lot want?"

"Pancakes!" chorused all four voices.

"I told Scorpius you make the best pancakes," Albus said. "And we hardly ever have them."

Harry chuckled. "That's because Pancake Day is only once a year." He caught Draco mouthing, _Pancake Day?_ and mouthed back, _Muggle religious thing_. He was grateful Draco didn't press, though he still looked puzzled. To the children, Harry said, "All right. Go down to the kitchen and we'll be there in a moment."

Lily, Albus, and Scorpius immediately turned and thundered down the stairs. James paused. "Dad?"

"Yes?"

He looked over at Draco and then back up at his father. "I'm glad Scorpius' dad stayed." It was probably the most serious thing Harry had ever heard his eldest say. He understood what James felt too awkward to express properly.

Harry ruffled his hair. "Me, too, Jamie. Now, go downstairs and make sure the others don't break any dishes getting things out for breakfast."

James ran off without another glance back. Heaving a sigh of relief, Harry sat down on the bed and flopped backwards, collecting himself. He twitched when Draco prodded him in the side.

"That was close." Draco chuckled.

Harry sat up. "I don't mind. I think it's all right for them to know." He put his hand on Draco's arm and searched his face for confirmation.

Draco nodded. "I think so too." He leaned in and kissed Harry softly.

As much as Harry would have liked it to turn into more, he knew their time alone was limited for the moment. He broke their kiss, then pressed his lips to Draco's cheek. "There'll be time for that later. For now, we'd best get down there before they ruin my kitchen." He stood up and tugged on Draco's hands.

"Don't include my son in that. He knows better than to muck about in other people's houses."

"Yes, but he's with my children, who have no concept whatsoever of how much mess they're making. Maybe we shouldn't leave them alone too long—Jamie will corrupt your precious angel before you can stop him."

Draco made a grab for Harry, but Harry's reflexes were quicker. When Draco huffed in annoyance, Harry relented and let him win. They managed to sneak in one last kiss, but before it could go anywhere, they heard a crash from below.

"And that's our cue," Harry said, yanking on the hem of Draco's shirt. Laughing, they dashed down the stairs to make breakfast before the children managed to do any further damage.


End file.
